Indian Tragedy

I'm not religious, but I consider one Orthodox Rabbi a pretty good friend. Wifey and I met Rabbi Yossi and his wife Nechama in 1995 when they moved to Miami and became tennants in our rental house.

Through them, we learned and became familiar with Chabad Lubavitch, their outreach group, which sends young emmissaries around the world, not to proselytize, but to try to bring more Jewishness to lapsed members of the tribe.

These emmissaries, called Schluchim, tend to be young, charming, and energetic couples, some of whom go to the world's far corners.

Well, two of them were killed last week, in the terrorist attack in Mumbai India. When it was first reported that their Chabad house was one of the targets of these creeps, along with some hotels and restaurants, Rabbi Yossi sent out an emergency email, asking everyone to pray, and to do acts of charity in honor of his friends, the Holtzbergs.

We complied, sending a check to a charity raising money to give a Bahamian boy a liver transplant (in yet another Miami small world story, the boy is one of my friend Barry's patients).

Well, the worst fears were confirmed, and the young rabbi and his wife were killed, though their toddler son was rescued by a nanny.

Yossi sent an email that showed his grief and shock. He knew these two for years. He asked us all to light shabbat candles --to bring light into a darkened world.

So the waxing and waning of human goodness goes on. As we were celebrating a joyous weekend, with D1 turning 20, and our amazing family's togetherness, another family was burying two young people, and making plans to raise their orphaned children.

Rabbi Yossi teached that God is in charge of all, and that it's as pointless to try to figure out God's logic as it is for a 2 year old to figure out why his parents do what they do to love and protect him. I guess he's right --there's no sense to this to me at all.

Jim Morrison noted that no one here gets out alive. I guess the only logical thing to do is enjoy the party while it's going on.

Thanksgiving Weekend

My cup truly runneth over this weekend. First, D1 came home from UF, and we spent a glorious day together. I had decided to buy her a watch for her 20th, which fell on Thanksgiving Day this year. I took her to a jeweler I know, and she picked out a used classic watch, and I had it inscribed for her.

I'm not into jewelry, but I am into time. To me, time is all we truly have, to spend, and to share. I guess the old English major in me is drawn to the metaphor of a timepiece --wearing time onone's wrist, as my old professor once remarked.

Anyway, D1 IS into jewelry, and really loves her new watch, whcih I hope she wears in good health forever.

We then went to a big box store, and bought D1 a new bedroom TV. The one she had dated to 1993, and was showing its age. It only played shows from the 90s! Not really, but I think that was a John Cheever story from years ago. Anyway, D2 seemed to like her surprise gift, but would not violate the "law of the disinterested, apathetic, and surly teenager" by showing true glee, so it was hard to tell. Whatever. Ha!

Thursday we took ancient Mom to sister's for Thanksgiving, and were thankful she was still among us. She got to see her 4 greatgrandchildren, and 2/3 of her grandchildren, so for her it was a sweet, complete day. I drove her home, and left a very, very happy old lady in her condo that evening. Mission accomplished.

Yesterday our neighbors and friends Charlie and Diane invited us over for ANOTHER Thanksgiving dinner. Diane is one of the most gracious hosts I know. She's always up, and always makes guests feel so welcome in her gorgeous house. One of D1's friends from UF came in at the last minute, and Wifey called Diane. Before she could meekly ask about bringing an extra guest, Diane shouted "I HOPE you have some more people coming, because I have TOO much food!"

Diane brought in delicious stuff from Joanna's, our best local market, and we sat around her table talking about the past election. It was a grand feast --and the new comer, D1's friend Rachel, seemed to have a great time as well, even when grilled about her political beliefs! (Fortunately it was a table full of Obama-philes, so all was well).

The phone rang, and it was Diane's daughter in Chicago, ready to have her first baby! Diane made a quick reservation for an early morning flight to O'Hare, rejoined the table, and we al toasted to the good health of her coming first granddaughter. Diane said "I'll ALWAYS remember this Thanksgiving."

Today we're hosting 15-20 of D1's friends at a lunch at a French place in the Gables. More damned celebration! I'm hoping the bar has a TV, so I can escape to watch the Canes game in that coming fog of estrogen.

Wednesday morning, we gave D1 a journal Wifey and I kept since the day she was born. The theme was how much we loved her, and how having her had shown us true joy and happiness. In other words, we were incredibly thankful back in 1988, when we had a toy sized house, and some subcompact Japanes cars.

Wifey and I wept as D1 read some early entries. D1 did, too. Those were the good old days. As Carly Simon sang, THESE are the good old days.

This was the grandest Thanksgiving weekend, ever!

The Political Kiss of Death

We have a neighbor who prides herself on being a local political "insider." Her husband is a commercial lawyer, who always seems immersed in something extremely serious. In fact, when I run into him at a Downtown restaurant, and stop to chat, he walks briskly away, inthe manner of someone involved in something of vital importance.

Well, over the past election season, the neighbor has emailed and stopped to talk about a judicial candidate, school board candidate, and most recently, a local commision candidate. The judge lost (and was arrested 2 months later for showing his, um briefs, in a local college restroom). The school board candidate lost to a political novice, and, just recently, the commision guy did, too.

I joke with Wifey that this lady's endorsement is the kiss of death. I'm just glad shs didn't have an Obama poster on her lawn.

I'm not sure why things like this annoy me. Wifey says I'm getting more and more curmudgeonly as I age, and MANY things annoy me. I guess self important folks, and know it alls, like my neighbor, have always been hot buttons for me.

I gave money to a neighbor for HER political campaign, and posted 2 of her signs. I knew she had zero chance to win against an popular incumbent, and sure enough, my neighbor lost in a landslide.

I see this as a positive. NExt time I'm asked for a political contribution, I can argue that my support is a kiss of death, too. I doubt it will dissuade a money hungry politician.

Well, enough about annoyances. I have a comical looking Basset Hound baying behind me, wanting to go outside into the cool weather.

Stirring it Up

My father was an accomplished practical joker. He preyed upon human foibles. His last and best in this arena was in 1980, the year after he reitred to Delray Beach. He was standing around the bakery counter at Publix, waiting for my mother. The elderly Jews were grumbling about how slow the service was, as if they had anywhere else important to go, my father added.

He turned to one of the loudest grumblers, and said, sotto voce, that the reason the line was so long was that they were giving away free rye breads to the first 25 customers. There were probably 40-50 pensioners waiting.

Within seconds, my father reported, the cry rose up "I vant MY free bread. Dis isn't fair. Vy not I get free bread!"

After a few minutes, the Chief Baker stood up on the counter. "Please remain calm. There are no free rye breads. That is a rumor. There is plenty of baked goods available for purchase for everyone. That was a false rumor."

My father slinked away, grinning. He knew then that he had too much time on his hands for an active mind (how's THAT for mixing a metaphor) and shortly afterwards went back to work part time selling gift clocks for a friend.

Well, I'm my father's son, and I feel a compelling need to likewise stir things up.

I immensely enjoy the over-seriousness of many of my neighbors. Last year, everyone was up in arms about our resident Asshole's threat to poison dogs that were crapping on his lawn. Eco terrorism nearly resulted.

Now, again, dog poop has reared its stinky head. Signs are appearing anew warning dog owners against this scourge. I walked past our newest resident's house today, and they had drawn, in chalk on their driveway, a request on behalf of their grass-playing children to keep the poop away.

I don't know. I grew up on working class Long Island, and dog crap was considered part of life. In fact, stepping in it became, in our mythology, an omen of good luck. When O'Leary, Columbo, or Goldstein (again, this was working class Long Island --you were either Irish, Italian, or Jewish) enjoyed good fortune, his contemporaries would say "Wow --O'Leary really stepped in it this time!"

So I don't get this pathological fear and aversion to dog crap. I may have to take steps... Ha!

I've already planted a seed. I emailed our Association president that part of the problem was human --that my friend and neighbor Jeff sometimes defecated on peoples' lawns, too. The president thought I was telling the truth! Hmm... if a majority of residents thought this was happening...

Somebody stop me, before I summon my father's spirit, and stir up unrest...

Hope I....Before I Get Old....

So, I'm enjoying a lovely morning here at Villa Wifey. D2 left for school, the dogs have been fed, and I'm reading about the great Canes victory I attended last night. I'm drinking my morning Joe. The sun is shining --the whole 9 yards.

My cell phone rings. It's Mom, weeping. "I have trouble. Big trouble."

I remember my father saying "I have trouble." It was the Spring of 1982, and he returned to our condo from his nightly walk. He felt pain in his upper chest as he walked. He got it checked out, was told he was fine, had a massive heart attack, and then a second one on July 14, 1982. So my father was dead within a few months after reporting "trouble." When my parent says "trouble," it's not a good thing.

I asked my mother what the trouble was. "I got this new Ben Gay stuff that Wifey sent me. I can't open the container. Who would send such a container? I don't know what to do. I need to use it. Yesterday I couldn't mention it, in the middle of all else that was going on. (An electrician was at her house, replacing the nearly 30 year old flourescent lamps. This was the overwhelming thing of yesterday).

I let her weep for awhile, and then told her it was ok, she could keep using the Ben Gay, and just "ignore that bad BioFreeze." It was the same as comforting a toddler who is convinced there's a monster in the closet. The problem is, with creeping senility at the end of life --the monster is real.

So I watched my father die, suddenly, at 63. It was too young. I have friends now nearly that age, and they're sleeping with multiple women 30 years their junior. (Thanks, Viagra!). But, my Dad checked out without any of this awful decline.

Is my mother's course better? She's nearly 89, and was blessed for so long with a wonderful life. She loved her friends, and her volunteer work. She savored visits with her grandchildren, and great grandchildren (as long as they were brief).

These days, it seems the focus of her life is how daunting everything is.

I guess the lesson to learn is that neither end is pleasant. We have to savor our youth, before it's robbed. My friend's father said it best. (He's dead now, too). Mother Nature is a nasty bitch.

Intimations of Mortality

First off --bonus to anyone who gets the joke of this title. Hint: Lake Country poet...

I was on the patio reading the paper this morning when D2 left for school. I have a silly little custom with her in the mornings I see her leave the house: I imitate a whipporwill's call, badly, and she looks up at me, with a half smile and a smirk. There's an ability at sarcasm and feigned apathy teenagers have that's lost as they approach the non teen years. Whatever.

Anyway, I make my silly bird call, we each say "I love you," and she's off for school. I always watch, amazed, in the same way I did when her older sister left for school. I'm amazed at my daughters' beauty and grace. To steal from McCartney, I'm amazed at how much I love them.

So I turned back to my newspaper, and the front page story was about the latest South Florida tragedy: a sophomore at Dillard High in Broward shot a fellow 15 year old to death, apparently because of spurned romantic advances.

I thought about the spectrum of life: how I was sitting at my house, enjoying the morning sun and quiet, watching my beloved child drive off, and less than 50 miles north of me a family was dealing with the unthinkable. It's what I've been teaching my girls their whole lives: the unfairness of life.

I have a friend who always tries to rationalize and justify misery in the world. She believes that there's always some explanation for the horrors that befall us. In this case, the victim was a white girl in a 90% Black school. I'm sure my friend would say "You see --that's what the parents get for sending their child to such a school. I would never have sent my child there!"

I see things differently. It's just a random horror. Of course, my friend thinks the way she does as the ultimate self protection mechanism: thinking her generally prudent life choice confer some type of immunity from tragedy. I know better. It's comforting to separate ourselves from "them" --the victims of life's random acts of cruelties, but it's also wrongheaded and immature.

So, I'm left to be thankful for another day, is all. Hopefully my beloved D2 will come home safely this afternoon, and take her place at the kitchen computer for homework and IMs and Facebook chats. Hopefully D1 is safe up at UF --nearing the 3/4 finished with a degree mark!

No one here gets out alive. As parents we always hope and pray that we leave first.

Old Friends

My oldest friend came yesterday for a visit. I met Eric when we were 8 --nearly 40 years ago! He's a computer engineer near Tampa, and married Jackie last year in a service on Key Biscayne, where I was the minister.

Eric and I grew up together on Long Island. We grew apart in our early 20s, around the time my father died, but now we see each other about once per year, and it's always pleasant.

He does contract work, and thinks employment is over rated. He earns enough in 6 onths to sustain him in his modest lifestyle (he and Jackie own a small condo in Tampa, and have no kids.) Jackie is a university professor, or was, and shares Eric's disdain for the rat race. They travel, kayak, enjoy their hobbies (Jackie sings ina choir; Eric's taken up the saxaphone, and buys and sells vintage instruments on Ebay). They're very laid back and happy --terrific house guests.

Last night we bought some sandwiches and wine and went to the Deering Estate for a jazz concert. It was positively delightful. The 4 of us lay on blankets, under the half moon, and actually snuggled and kissed. Then we danced to a sax player named Allbright, and a singer named Patti Austin.

Afterwards, we walked to the edge of the lagoon, and watched 2 boats get stuck on a sandbar, laughing as the captains cursed and tried to motor away. If there was a lovlier way to spend a Saturday night, I didn't know what it was.

This morning we had breakfast, and then Ken stopped by. Eric and I met KEn in junior high, and he lives here now. I tried to engage in some nostalgia, but Eric had none of it. IT turns out that his childhood was much less happy than I thought it was, and he chooses to leave it in the past...

He and Jackie drove off in the early afternoon. He figures it's time to go back to work in January, and Jackie will probably teach English composition online. After they replenish their savings, it'll be off next Summer, maybe to the South Pacific.

The two of them really seem to relish their marriage. I'm thrilled for them.

As Wifey and Jackie walked to the restroom last night, Eric and I lay on the blanket, looking at the night sky --the way we used to when we were 9 or 10. We always talked about many things.

Last night we realized we agreed on something 40 years after we became friends. One path to happiness is avoiding negative people, and surrounding oneself only with those who are happy.

Bravo, Eric! Mission accomplished.

Best Halloween Ever

So I voted Friday, and then headed out to buy a few pumpkins to carve. When I was a kid, Halloween was my favorite holiday, since I loved to be scared, and I had a fascination with the whole pagan Celtic thing.

As a teen, my friends and I would have parties, and then go out with eggs for some light vandalism against the houses of mean neighbors, or girls who rejected us. One year, I nearly escaped death. I was probably 13 or 14, and as I walked down the streets, pockets bulging with eggs, a police cruiser came by. The Nassau police would stop all adolescents on Halloween, and pat us down, to break any eggs we were carrying. I stashed the eggs in the open metal bottom of a streetlight.

The police car stopped, and the officer exited, and sure enough patted us down for the offending weapons. My friends and I smirked. In my memory, the officer had a cliched Irish brogue. It was true that most of the cops were Irish, but by the 70s were 3rd or 4th generation American, and sounded more like Archie Bunker than the friendly officers of Warner Brothers movies.

Anyway, I reached in to retrieve my eggs, and got an electric shock that literally knocked my back 5 feet. Somehow, I wasn't electrocuted, and walked away stunned and amazed, from what was one of my first examples of the uncommonly good luck I'd see in my life.

Back to the present. I returned from an errand to Fox's Saloon, where I had left my credit card from the evening before (Wifey actually met a friend and I for drinks, midweek!), and walked into my kitchen. Standing there was D1, who had surprised us by coming home for the weekend! I was floored, and extremely happy to see her.

She went out to Coconut Grove that evening, but last night sat on the porch with Wifey and I , talking about ships and shoes and sealing wax...It was lovely.

She heads back to Gainesville today, and is due home again for Thanksgiving, also her 20th birthday! She asked: "So, Dad --how's it feel to have an almost 20 year old daughter?" It feels terrific, especially since I'm blessed with such a wonderful one.

She truly made my weekend with that surprise.

So, she's heading back to study more French, and Sociolinguistics, and other things. Most importantly, she continues her study of human nature --the most vital of academic pursuits.

When she returns, we'll have a new president, and hopefully things will be looking up for our country.

As for me, I'll still be treasuring this finest Halloween treat.